


Aging Gracefully

by idelthoughts



Series: Mortinez Fics [14]
Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: 1x20 Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Times, Henry's 237th Birthday, Honesty, Hurt/Comfort, Reveal, gray hair, lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 03:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8084128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: When Lucas finds a gray hair, Henry is the one who panics.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vintageteaparty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vintageteaparty/gifts).



> This is a gift for mystoryisalongone on the occasion of Henry's 237th Birthday! She asked for some mortinez first times, and an argument/makeup. What better way to up the angst than a reveal?
> 
> (This story goes AU at the end of 1x20 - instead of Abe interrupting That Conversation when Jo arrives from ditching Isaac at the airport, Henry and Jo get together, and Abigail's fate remains unknown.)
> 
> Thank you for organizing this event, mystoryisalongone!
> 
> Special thanks to [LadySilver](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilver/pseuds/LadySilver) for the last-minute beta!

“Look at it!”

Lucas’ hand thrust underneath Henry’s nose, blocking the view of the punctured lung inside the corpse upon the slab mid-autopsy. Lucas’ fingers pinched around something, but it was so close Henry couldn’t bring it into focus. He raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head to look at his assistant.

Lucas removed his hand and held it aloft in front of his nose, and the solitary hair he clutched became visible against the contrast of Lucas’ skin. Lucas gaped at it like it had personally insulted him.

“It’s only a gray hair, Lucas.”

“It’s not even gray—it’s white, pure white!”

“First one?”  Henry turned his attention back to the body under his hands, keeping his tone nonchalant and disinterested.  It felt far too soon to see his coworkers aging, and discussions of this type rearing their head.

“Yeah. You think I’ll go all salt and pepper, distinguished-like? Or is this going to be a full head of Dick Van Dyke thick white hair? I mean if I’m pulling it off like Hannibal in the A-Team, I can deal, but…” Lucas touched the rest of his hair cautiously, like it might have abruptly faded in colour over the course of the past minute. “Man, I’m only thirty-one!”

“People go gray much earlier than that,” Henry said idly. “A loss of melanin can occur in childhood, if one is genetically predisposed. It’s hardly an indication that you’re _old_ , Lucas.” He held out his hand expectantly to put an end to the conversation. “Tongs, please.”

Lucas grabbed up the tongs from the tray and handed them over, attention still on the hair, as Henry dug in beneath the perforated lung to try and track the path of the projectile that had ended the life of their victim.

“When did you get your first gray hair?” Lucas asked, undistracted from his obsession.

“Sometime in my late twenties, I believe,” Henry said with a defeated sigh.

They’d grown without notice, somewhere during his marriage to Nora and the start of his medical career, before the idea of resettling in the American colonies had even been a dim light on his horizon. Five gray hairs, small and innocuous, hidden amongst the dark brown. Unnoticeable, even now, but that he had spent years looking at himself and knew every wrinkle, scar, freckle, and hair that had shown how he had aged quite normally for thirty-five years—and then stopped.

The tongs hit something metallic, and with a twist of his wrist and some jimmying, Henry grabbed hold of it and extracted it, holding it aloft with a cry of victory.

“Whatcha got there?”

Jo and Hanson were entering the morgue, and Henry presented the tongs and said, “Our murder weapon!” just as Lucas held out his hand and said, “A gray hair!”

Jo and Hanson looked at each other, and Henry dipped his head in defeated irritation before turning a chastising look on Lucas.

“Lucas, get rid of that before you contaminate the body!”

“Oh—oops, yeah.  Sorry.”  Lucas finally got the message and tucked the hair carefully into his pocket with a stream of further mumbled apologies.

“I can directly relate every single one of my gray hairs to something my kids did,” Hanson said, pulling a notebook from his pocket.

“That is a common misconception.  Research has shown no direct link between stressful events and loss of pigmentation,” Henry said. He'd given up trying to redirect the conversation, so he might as well keep the facts straight.

“I started to go gray when I was in the Academy,” Jo said with a shrug, patting her hair with a vague air of self-consciousness. “I’ve been colouring it since then—who knows what’d happen if I stopped.” She smiled at Henry. “Not everyone has the lucky genes.”

“Unless you’re a salon regular and no one noticed,” Hanson quipped. “Not gonna judge if you’re a bottle brunet, Doc.”

Henry’s stomach fluttered briefly, but he held up the tongs with the bloody results of his search. Predictably, both Jo and Hanson flinched, momentarily taken aback by the gore. Bless his profession, it did provide for excellent distractions.

“As I said, our murder weapon. Not a bullet at all, but a piece of shrapnel. If I make my guess correctly, a bit of the car. Likely the victim lost control of the car, sending it into a spin, and a piece of the body from either his or the other vehicle was sent into his body at high speed, emulating a bullet wound.”

“It only looked like a bullet?” Hanson flipped his notebook closed. “Hell of a thing.”

“Indeed. This killed him seconds before the impact would have. Either way, accidental.”

“Well, there it is, then.” Hanson shook his head, and gave Henry a mock salute. “You have a good weekend, I’m celebrating closing this one with kicking off an hour early. Catch you Monday, team.”

“‘Night, Hanson,” Jo said.

Jo looked over the body, something obviously on the tip of her tongue—and a brief glance at Lucas, who was busily writing notes in the case file, and then to Henry, gave away that it was personal in nature. Henry peeled off his gloves.

“Lucas, could you finish up here?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Lucas said absently.

Jo followed Henry to his office after he cocked his head to invite her to follow. Once the door closed to give them privacy, Jo looked at him with slightly baffled silence, as though she didn’t quite know what to say.

“You could be in Paris right now,” Henry said softly, smiling a little to soften the statement. “But instead you’re looking over dead bodies in the morgue.”

“Yeah, I could be,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I made the right choice.” Her mouth pursed slightly as she chewed on the inside of her bottom lip, in what he’d come to recognize as one of her tells when she was uncertain. “What about you?”

 _Had_ he made the right choice?

She’d come to his door last night, suitcase in hand, confession in her heart, and laid a choice before him.

He could only withstand so much temptation; he couldn’t refuse a drink of water when he was parched and a glass was held to his lips, the offer so unexpected and disarming, catching him weak and off-guard. Ultimately, words had failed him. He’d leaned forward and kissed her, there amidst antique lamps and tables, as though hypnotized.

He could still feel the weight of her hands settling on his chest, the brush of her lashes as she closed her eyes, the way his breath had shaken and sounded so loud rushing through his nose when he realized what he’d done. He’d kissed her, leaving them both tongue-tied and stunned.

Abe had come home then and interrupted them, in an odd mood—subdued and troubled, tripping a warning switch despite Henry's distracted state—and Jo had excused herself with a dazed, stuttered statement that she’d see him at work tomorrow. Abe had only said he’d “gone looking for something and didn’t find it,” and went to bed without further explanation. He was entitled to his privacy, and so Henry hadn’t pursued it. He was occupied with his own turmoil of thoughts, and had spent most of the night reliving the moment of weakness.

“Did I make the right choice?” Henry looked from her nervous, pursed mouth to her eyes, and the same swooping sensation hit his stomach as the night before, and he couldn’t help but be disarmed by her sincerity once again. _Right_ didn’t factor into it at all. “Jo, I don’t think I could possibly have made a different one.”

Jo’s shoulders relaxed, and her grin was dazzling. Jo stepped close to him and kissed him—not tentative, but a little uncertain, a little impulsive, as though not sure whether or not she should at work, but that she needed to. Henry closed his eyes as his hands twitched at his sides to reach for her, but he stopped himself. Had they been anywhere but here, he would have pursued the kiss, but for now it was short, sweet, and promising.

When his eyes opened she had a pleased, mischievous spark to her attitude, and he gave her a wry grin. Damn, but she was tempting. How had he never let himself think how very, very captivating that sloe-eyed look could be when it was turned his way?

“Hm,” he said with a regretful sigh. “A conversation to be continued at a future time.”

“How about tonight?” Jo shrugged, as though the offer wasn’t one that made both of them linger over the possibilities. “Dinner at my place?”

Jo, it seemed, was not one to wait once she’d made up her mind about something. He nodded, as gentlemanly and polite as he could manage while entertaining a host of ideas over where the evening would take them. Her expression said she wasn’t fooled—and that the subtext was well and truly intended.

“That sounds perfect,” he said.

He sat at his desk as Jo left with a last backward smile.

He idly sorted through the mail waiting for him on his desk, pleasantly daydreaming. Several case reports to sign off on, interoffice memos, his payroll stub—which today, was accompanied by a cheery reminder that it was time to consider serious contributions to his retirement plan. He lingered over that one with an unhappy sigh. Was it already time to start fending off these sorts of things?

Before he could set it to the side, his door flung open abruptly, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up, startled, to find Lucas in the doorway brandishing his pinched fingers in the air.

“Another one!” he cried. “ _Two_ gray hairs!”

“Do feel free to come in,” Henry said, unable to keep the dry sarcasm from his tone.

Lucas brandished the hair at Henry, as though waving a lecturing finger.

“Just you wait, Henry. Your time will come shortly, and you’ll see what it feels like.” Lucas huffed out again, muttering to himself.

In the silence of Henry’s office, the pleasant afterglow of Jo’s kiss faded to the leaden weight of dread; it dragged at his limbs and pulled the blood from his head until he was faint.

Nearly five years at this job. Gray hairs on his colleagues, comments on his youthful appearance already starting, the pedantic pension contribution reminders… Familiar old ghosts were raising their heads once more, the realities of trying to live a normal life. He’d set his age at the improbable age of thirty when he began in New York again, but now edging into his so-called late thirties, it was going to get progressively harder.

His time here was almost up, wasn’t it?

The clock ticked loudly over to six o’clock—two hours until he was to meet Jo.

He dropped the papers and put his head in his hands, elbows on his desk.

What the hell was he doing?

 

***

 

He was being a fool, that’s what he was doing.

He and Jo made it as far as ordering in dinner, of making polite conversation as they ate, laughed, and then tidied dishes—then a brush against her in the kitchen, and the inhale of her breath, the pause, the tilt of her head towards him—

He didn’t think, because if he did, he would have to leave.

So, he kissed her without a single thing held back, his fingers sliding into her hair as he’d wanted to do since he’d felt it brush against his cheek when he kissed her last night. It was all the invitation she needed.

She practically hauled him upstairs, her hands in his clothes and stripping him as they went, until they tumbled into her bed with desperation. She whispered his name like an urgent command, and he was shamefully eager, taking no time but fumbling only long enough with a condom before sinking into her with relief.

It was hard and frantic, like both of them had been been denied this far too long and the dam had burst. He was grateful to feel her hips working beneath him, muscles clenching, and the rising pitch of her voice and the scrape of her fingernails as she came, because he had no grace or art to hang on longer than he did. Her legs tightened around him as he jerked hard, thrusting deep into her, and groaned through clenched teeth, his face buried in her neck.

It took him a moment to lift his head, and when he did he kissed her, still panting, and she returned it with dazed languor. He smiled down at her and raised an eyebrow, and she blinked and put the back of her hand over her eyes, groaning softly.

“Oh my god, so much for romance,” she mumbled. “Okay. That was not, um… not really how I meant this to go.” She peeked an eye out from beneath her hand. “Sorry for jumping you.”

Henry chuckled at her sheepish apology and kissed her on the nose to make her smile. He nudged aside her hand half-covering her face and gave her a proper kiss, full and slow, as he pressed his hips into her. That pulled a softer, pleased noise from her. Her eyes fluttered open, cloudy with pleasure, when he broke the kiss with a last soft peck of her lips.

“Jo, darling, in case you hadn’t noticed, I very much enjoyed it.”

She blinked slowly and touched his cheek, then his lips, as though exploring the shape, her eyes following the path of her fingers.

“‘Darling,’” she repeated with a half-smile. “Henry, sometimes you sound like you learned how to talk by watching too many historical miniseries.”

 _Almost right_ , he thought, smiling beneath her fingertips. Living them rather than watching them, but close enough.

“Is that bad?” He caught her hand, turning it to kiss her palm, unable to take his eyes off hers. They were still fitted together, sweaty and sticky and cooling, but he didn’t want to move, even awkwardly braced to keep most of his weight off her.

“Nah.” She traced one of his eyebrows, then along the crest of his brow, and lifted her head to kiss him. “It suits you. Wouldn’t have you any other way,” she murmured, and kissed him again.

His ardor was temporarily sated, but Jo proved quite able and willing when he kissed his way down her body and took his time to appreciate her with a patience he hadn’t possessed earlier. He delighted in every tensed muscle and surprised gasp he earned, and lost himself in her eagerly. For now, his worries and cares disappeared.

They passed a pleasant night together, and much of the weekend in youthful escapism from their responsibilities and the entire world. Abe was amused at the phone call home explaining his absence, but only happy for him rather than teasing him.

And beyond the warmth of Jo’s bed and body… he didn’t let himself think too hard.

 

***

 

Monday morning, Lucas charged in afire with indignation and loud approbation for the natural human state.

“Three more gray hairs!” he cried, hands wide. “Back of my head. They’ve been there the whole time, and I _didn’t_ _know_.  And you know what?  I think I’m getting crowsfeet.  I mean, everyone gets the crinkly smile eyes, but they’re starting to get permanent.”

Henry looked up from his desk where he was writing out his crime scene notes from last week’s case with Jo and Hanson. He’d been half-daydreaming about the pleasant weekend passed with Jo, at the various aches from their activities, and Lucas’ abrupt entry cut into his thoughts with shattering strength. He frowned, about to chastise Lucas for his rude entry again, before deciding there was no point.

“It’s very normal, Lucas,” he sighed.  “You really shouldn’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, but,” he scoffed, and set his hands on his hips. “God, at this rate I’m gonna look older than you.” Lucas’ eyes widened, and he held up his hands. “Not that you look old. I mean—no, you don’t, you look just as young as ever. You like, glow with youth. Skin as great as the day we met—not that I think about your skin. Because that would be weird and creepy.” He pursed his lips and back-pedalled through the office doorway with a nervous laugh. “Know what? I’m just gonna stop talking now.”

Lucas turned and fled, out the morgue to the change rooms to presumably get ready for the day while knocking his head into a locker door. His office was silence once more, but for the very loud tick of the brass clock on his desktop.

Henry lasted two minutes before he threw down his pen on his desk and went to the washrooms to splash cold water on his face and try to ease his racing pulse.

He grabbed two paper towels from the machine to pat his face dry, and caught his reflection in the mirror. He was unusually grim and pale beneath his dark facial hair.

Dark hair, unmarred by gray. He tilted his head to the side until the light caught the two strands of silver on that side hidden amongst the rest. Small, unnoticed, and exactly the same as they had been five years ago, fifty-five years ago, a hundred and fifty-five years ago.

He should have started graying his hair before now. He’d been lazy and complacent in his stay here. However, to begin the process now would invite _more_ commentary, not less, at the coincidental timing. To be sure, Lucas would be paying fine attention to such matters right now.

And could he hide such cosmetic trickery from someone he now shared a bed with?

He and Jo had passed a lovely weekend together. They’d spoken of nothing so concrete as revisiting the experience, only the gentle nothings that passed for the conversation of new lovers, but he’d be a fool to think it wouldn’t happen again now that they’d cracked the door.

And damn it, he _wanted_ her. He’d fallen in love with her, idiot that he was—and been far too honest in airing his feelings, once he thought her safely in the arms of another man. Little did he know she’d do something so foolish as choose Henry.

Henry bowed his head as he leaned on the sink. Well, there was nothing to be done about it today. Today, there was an afternoon of work, and then a week ahead of the same. He could afford a few days to tuck this in the back of his mind and consider his options.

 

***

 

Jo held her bottom lip between her teeth when she was close to orgasm. Eyes closed, brow creased like her concentration had retreated deep within her, the skin dimpled along the line of her teeth going white and just a little red as she bit down, soft moan caught behind her clenched shut jaw.

Henry studied her with fascination as he worked his fingers inside her, stroking and curling with the rocking of her hips up against the pressure of the heel of his hand. She was unspeakably beautiful with her skin flushed and damp with sweat. He propped his head on his elbow as he lay alongside her, learning how each movement corresponded to her reactions; he intended to become an expert in this particular field of study as quickly as possible.  He would never waste his time with her.

“Oh, oh god, Henry,” she panted. Her eyes opened a slit, and her hand scrabbled at his chest, fingers sliding along his skin.

“Yes?” He smiled at her, tilting his head to better look at her. “Good?”

“Good,” she agreed, breathless.

Her hand worked lower, closing with a clumsy grip around his erection. He was hard against her thigh, had been for the last while as he pleasured her, well recovered after his first orgasm. He made a pleased grumble as she convulsively squeezed tight at the same time as he crooked his fingers hard in her, but he leaned close and kissed her collarbone, trapping her arm.

“Let me,” he whispered. “Just relax, enjoy it.”

Her hand stayed closed around him, and her other clutched the back of his head as he kissed the curve of her breasts, mouthing over her skin as her thighs tightened around his moving hand and the pitch of her moans rose. He thrust into the ring of her fingers instinctively as the sound of her pleasure skated down his spine and fired his belly.  He pressed an ear to the thundering beat of her heart when her stomach muscles tensed to iron rigidity and she made a sharp noise, pulsing around the tips of his fingers as he pressed hard inside her.

He nursed her through the aftershocks, murmuring encouraging approval as she shuddered with each movement, growing more sensitive. Eventually she patted the back of his head significantly. He gently slid his fingers from inside her, stroking her softly, then cupping her with the flat of his hand until her legs relaxed and her knees fell to each side.

“Fuck,” she panted with stunned sincerity as she blinked up at the ceiling. Henry lifted his head and chuckled. She seemed to realize what she’d said and looked down at him with a wince as he rested his chin lightly on her breastbone. “Uh, sorry.”

“I’ve no objection to coarse language,” he said. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Yeah, do,” she said. Her grip around his erection tightened a little again. “I’ll make it up to you. In a minute.”

“It’s not a case of quid pro quo.” He lifted himself up to kiss her, and inhaled as she worked lower and cradled his testicles, and made a considering noise. “Though I won’t object.”

He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in decades. These were golden hours, divorced from the realities of the world outside the bedroom door. Her pleasure was uncomplicated, his joy equally so, and there were no promises to keep beyond the respect they afforded each other. He cared about Jo. He’d cared about her for a long time, but her unguarded smile had knocked away any resistance he had to opening himself up to it.

Their activities wore them out and they dozed, having fallen into bed shortly after dinner for a decadent evening.  They both woke around ten feeling rested despite the late hour, and got up from bed to take a shower together. Jo cuddled at his back and made happy sounds as she rubbed her cheek at his shoulder, and he held his hands together over his chest, lifting her hand to kiss her fingers.

When she pressed her palms to his chest, her fingertips brushed his scar and curled over the misshapen flesh. He sensed the point where it registered in her mind, when she shifted her head as though seeing it.  Her fingers moved again.

He sighed and waited for her questions.

They never came.

Her hands moved away, and a second later they were back, palms pooled with soap to lather his body. He turned in her arms and kissed her, ineffably grateful that the sanctity of this bubble they’d created would remain unperturbed just a little longer.

Washed and dried, he hesitated by her bed before she put her arms around his waist and kissed his cheek. She smiled up at him softly, the dim lighting of her bedroom making her eyes unfathomably dark.

“Stay?”

“Abe will start to wonder if I’ve disappeared,” he joked, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. She laughed, her smile too charming to resist, and he ducked to press another kiss to her lips. He couldn’t resist her. “Yes, I would like that.”

But they didn’t fall asleep immediately, both having rested thanks to their post-coital dozing.

“You ever wonder how you got here, Henry?” Jo said, her back pressed to his chest as he spooned behind her.

“What do you mean?” He nuzzled the back of her head.

“I dunno. Well, if you picture yourself five years ago. Did you ever wonder if that person could look ahead and ever guess that this is where they’d be now?”

Henry pondered that, looking back on himself five years ago, and… No. Most assuredly not. But when had he ever been able to look forward and know exactly where he’d be? In some sense, he had absolute assurance—he would be alive, and he would be the same. But experiences, location, society? No. Nothing was predictable.

And for Jo, the question was more poignant. Five years ago, she had been a married woman looking forward to her life with her husband. Now, she lay in her bed with a different man, one she’d chosen to take a risk on.

The abrupt realization humbled him. She’d taken a chance on him, finding him worthy of surmounting the hurdle of her grief, finding him worth the risk of heartbreak once more.

He swallowed against his suddenly dry mouth.

“I’m sure I never know what’s coming,” he said. “Life surprises me far too often.”

Jo sighed and snuggled back into his arms.

“Yeah, me too. But I guess I’m happy where I am right now, and my life led me here. So…”

She paused. He could hear her thoughts; one could not be glad for the missteps of life, nor the loss and grief—but one could still take pleasure in the joys life did give. Appreciated them all the more, knowing that such happiness is fleeting. Jo had learned far too many unfair lessons in her short life, wise beyond her years.

“I understand.” He tightened his arms around her in a reassuring embrace.

“I figured you would.” She was silent long enough that he thought she’d fallen asleep, until she asked, “Henry, what are we?”

“I don’t know.” He brushed his lips over her bare shoulder. “Happy, I hope.”

He knew it wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but she was also not going to push. She made a noncommittal noise, and fell silent once more. Just as well; he’d rather avoid the answer to that for as long as possible.

Because while they were this right now, together and content in each others’ company, there was no golden future to look forward to.

Henry fell asleep, wondering about ways to age himself in ways subtle enough that Jo wouldn’t notice. Gray hair was out; he couldn’t bleach a strand at a time, and she’d notice brushed in colouration.

Maybe glasses. He would look into getting glasses in the morning.

 

***

 

Their dynamic at work had not changed—and Henry noted how much of it had already been based on a mutual trust and partnership much deeper than he’d let himself acknowledge. And after work, they both fell into a pleasing routine of dinner together, and then a mutual desire for companionship drove them to stay together.

As Jo lived alone, they by unspoken agreement ended up staying at her place, and in the few weeks that followed, he stayed with her more often than not. Perhaps they both had habits formed, of relationships that fell into comfortable patterns, domestic ones of shared meals, shared beds, shared mornings.

One Saturday morning, Henry rose from bed while Jo was still sleeping, and went off to have a shower. He’d promised Abe an afternoon, both because he’d barely seen his son thanks to the schedule he’d set, and because he owed Abe answers to the laundry list of questions he had queued up for as soon as he could corner Henry. “Sorry, have to dash!” would only get him out of it so long when running off to work in the morning, and so he would have to sit and account for himself. “I haven’t thought about it,” was likely going to be as disappointing an answer, but he was fairly sure it was all he could say. Abe would have to accept it, but Henry could already see the disapproving frown and folded arms.

Henry was downstairs making coffee—Jo preferred milk to cream, sugar only in her fancy coffee beverages from coffee shops, not at home—when Jo came in wrapped in a soft grey robe and yawning, eyes still half-closed.

“You’re up early,” she mumbled.

“I did promise Abe I’d show up for my interrogation today,” Henry said lightly. “Might as well get it over with.”

“Ah, right.” She chuckled, and then cupped her hands around the mug Henry handed her. “Oh my god, thank you.”

“And what are your plans for today?” he asked.

“I’ve got some stuff to look up,” she said vaguely, and Henry raised an eyebrow with a curious cock of his head. She slipped into the chair at the kitchen table and shrugged as she put her mug down. “I guess I can tell you. I’m only a couple years off my twenty years with the force. I’m thinking of going up for lieutenant. But I’ve got to take some classes, do some training, if I want to do that. So, I’m just starting to check it out.”

“That’s wonderful,” Henry said with a grin.

“My mom wants me to retire—she never really liked that I got into it in the first place. But… I can’t imagine doing anything else, you know?”

Henry nodded. Neither could he. Jo’s work was more than a job, and ran deep; and he could understand. Though he’d left practicing medicine with patients, he had never been able to fully leave the field. In some form, he would always come back to it.

Jo, looking vaguely embarrassed by the confession and Henry’s approval, took a sip of her coffee with another shrug.

“What about you? Gonna stick it out with the OCME until you’re doddering your way out on a pension?”

“Er, yes. Something like that,” Henry said, caught off guard. He stared at the tabletop between them, and then rose with a deep breath. “Well, I must be going. I don’t want to keep Abe waiting—I’m sure he’s nearly beside himself with curiosity.”

Jo tilted her head to accept the brief kiss he laid on her cheek, but her sidelong glance at him said she’d noted the odd discomfort behind his response.

“Okay. See you Monday at work?”

“Yes. Looking forward to it.”

Henry showed himself out, his light breakfast sitting poorly in his stomach as he hurried away.

Jo’s future was clear and decided, as straightforward as she was. He was unable to be any of the things she valued—honest, transparent, committed.

 

***

 

To Henry’s unnerved surprise, Abe’s chat with him boiled down to very little. Some pleasantries, a shared meal, catching up on the gossip of Abe’s life over the past few weeks, happenings at the store, trading various stories from the morgue.

And while Henry braced himself for the questions when Abe fell silent and laced his fingers together, resting his chin on his hands to look at Henry thoughtfully, they did not come.

“I’m glad to see you happy,” was all he said.

Henry paused in thought, waiting to see if Abe had more, but the smile was genuine, the sentiment heartfelt. Henry swallowed and nodded.

“I am happy,” he said softly.

“Good. That’s all I ever wanted for you, Pops.”

Abe stood up and came around the table to Henry, laying a steady hand on his shoulder and kissing him on the head, as Henry had done so many times to Abe in his life. Abe left him to his afternoon reading, off to work downstairs in the store.

Henry didn’t move from the table for a long while, face buried in his hands with elbows resting on the tabletop. Then, he went to fetch Abe’s laptop computer.

He had a tumultuous relationship with the device, never having fully learned the various ways in which to prod at it to make it bow to his will. He knew how to make it check his work email—which Abe had set up—and how to call up the inventory for the store that Abe kept in an electronic spreadsheet for archival purposes. Henry couldn’t understand why he thought an electronic copy would be safer than the physical one they kept in the store, but he gathered it had something to do with more copies and keeping them in the clouds.

However, the computer did have its uses, ones which made an old task much easier in recent days; as a search tool, it was unsurpassed.

Whereas in previous decades he would have had to scour national newspapers, call many people, and send many letters, today he could merely type into a single bar and turn up every relevant piece of information he needed.

And so, Henry typed “medical examiner jobs” into the little bar Abe had called ‘Google,’ and began to scroll through the list.

 

***

 

The art of living in two worlds at once was as natural as breathing to Henry. To put aside the conflicts of life, let them lie beneath his conscious thoughts, so as to let himself function without seeing all the ways in which it could end. There were points where the veil between the two grew thin, like the middling ground where haunting spirits came to remind him how tenuous that separation was, and that the darker realities would soon rear their heads.

The crisis of Lucas’ looming thirties continued unabated, though the arrival of a pair of fake glasses on Henry’s face mollified him somewhat.  His comments on Henry’s un-aging appearance ceased. It was far too late, however; the seed had been planted, and Henry could not help the resulting reflexive actions he took. Seek out a new job, applications under a fake name, delving into the package of pre-made identities waiting for him—a handful of birth certificates and passports he’d bought at once, each with birth dates spaced at ten year intervals, so that he might be able to restart whenever he needed to, and be prepared.

He chose, as a concession to staying in the same field of employment, an identity with a different last name; Henry Morris, just in case there should be anyone who came looking for him. He automatically turned away from the thought that the one who would come looking for him would be Jo.

He fell into Jo’s arms at night, escaping into the glow of her happiness, and his own.  She was the last rays of sun before the storm, the last day of freedom before a prison sentence, and he didn’t allow his fear to ruin these moments that would be memories to come.  Happy memories; those were what he thrived on in the quieter, lonelier times.

Henry Morris’ application was gladly accepted by a hospital in Los Angeles. He would no longer be working directly with the police department, but that was for the best. A letter of offer arrived in the mail along with a contract to be signed. He’d raised a few eyebrows when he’d requested the letter by mail, rather than email, but he was still unable to trust the electronic system despite its decades of steady use.

All that remained was to say his goodbyes. Abe he would let know properly, would tell him that his time to move on had come, and where to find Henry so they could visit. Henry still owned a country home in upstate New York, and it wouldn’t be far for Abe to drive and meet him there, if old age prevented him from further travels across the continent. He didn’t want to miss Abe’s elder years, but Henry would find ways to see him. Abe would understand; had understood many a time when Henry had fled with little or no warning. He always came back, and would do so again this time.

The other goodbyes he had to make would be more circumspect. For his staff, he would leave his work in order, nothing undone, all loose ends tied up. He would leave a letter of recommendation for Lucas’ promotion, along with a personal letter of thanks and well-wishes.

For the Homicide department he’d worked alongside these last years, a letter to Lieutenant Reece would suffice, again thanking her for the faith she’d placed in him. He’d not forgotten the choice she made when Adam had tried to set him up for multiple murders, believing in Henry and his innocence despite appearances. He owed her much.

And for Jo…

Henry held the job offer and contract in his hands, and the two futures that had been running alongside each other, disconnected yet both continuing, crashed into each other with brutal force. He was ready to leave, and she deserved to know.

But he was a coward with no satisfying answers, so he would make it quick. A nice dinner, a last night together, and then he would leave in the morning.

In the meantime, Abe.

 

***

 

Telling Abe went as poorly as he’d imagined it would.

Abe paced the floor of the living room, casting periodic scowls at Henry, but anger was quickly fading into frustration. Henry knew his son; there would be various attempts at guilt next—invariably the hardest part, because Abe was astute enough to know Henry’s weak points—and then acceptance would come. Even if it was resignation, that would be good enough.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this now,” Abe said. He put his hands on his hips, shaking his head fiercely. “Of all the times to run out, you pick _now_?”

“Abe, I know how this goes. I’ve lived through it enough times. Once the idea gets into peoples’ heads, they start noticing that I’m not aging, that I haven’t aged in the entire time they’ve known me.” Henry pulled the false glasses from his face and waved them aloft, dropping them on the coffee table in front of him, and leaned back in the chair. “These are a temporary crutch, and a poor one.”

“No one suspects anything, and you know it. You’re just afraid.”

“Yes, I’m afraid!” Henry stood from his seat, imploring Abe to understand. “With good reason.”

“No. No, you’re being a coward, and there’s a difference. Things are just starting to go good with Jo, you’re happy here, you have a _life_ here, and you decide that now is when you hit the road?”

Henry looked away from Abe, unable to deny it.

“I can’t tell her,” he said quietly. He wiped his hands over his face, suddenly drained of energy. “I can’t.”

“You can, too, and you know it—and that’s what you’re afraid of, Henry.” Abe was harsh in his words, and his finger cut the air as he brandished it at Henry. “It might take her a bit, but we both know she’d give you the time to prove it to her, because she’s a good person who’s got faith in you. You should have some faith in her too.”

They eyed each other, Henry uneasy with curdling guilt. Abe, as he’d known he would, had cut him deep with the truth. Henry bowed his head, a hand over his eyes, gritting his teeth and unsure what to say. He’d decided on his course of action, and this disharmony between them wounded him more deeply than anything.

“Abe…” he started, but Abe sighed and cut him off with a noise.

“Nah, I’m sorry. Look, I need to go cool off.”

Abe headed for the stairs, his footsteps heavy as he descended. Henry heard the sounds of scuffling in the shop, and Henry knew he would be at work cleaning and polishing the stock, something constructive to which he could turn his energy.

Henry allowed himself a few more moments of self-pity, standing in the middle of the wreckage of their argument. The job offer letter that had started the entire conversation lay on the table. He would sign the damned thing tomorrow morning and hand-deliver it day after tomorrow once he was safely in Los Angeles.

Henry wiped the moisture from his eyes and returned to his room to continue packing, and then he would prepare for his last night with Jo.

He was absorbed in the task when he heard a footstep and a gentle knock at the door. He sighed, his heart sinking. Time for round two, already.

“Abe, please. Let’s leave things on a good note. I’ll be gone tomorrow, and our last….”

He turned as he spoke, and ground to a halt when he met Jo’s confused face—her hand pushing open his bedroom door, and the letter of offer addressed to Henry Morris in her hand.

 

***

 

“Hey,” Jo said softly.

Henry struggled to breathe evenly. He licked his lips, without any idea what to say. Jo apparently was as much at a loss as he was, but she cast her eyes around his room briefly. He’d never invited her here. She’d never seen his bedroom; they’d only gone to hers. He’d never let her in.

Jo’s eyes finally settled on the suitcase, and then flitted back to Henry.

“What are you doing here, Jo?” he finally asked.

“Thought I’d pick you up for tonight, since I was in the neighbourhood. Abe let me in, told me to come up and ‘talk some sense into you.’” She frowned, and then looked to the paper in her hand. “He, uh. He told me you were in the living room, and I didn’t mean to pry, but I saw this…”

Henry’s agitation spurred him to action. He moved to her and took the letter from her, plucking it away—though of course she’d already seen it, already read it, and knew exactly what it meant. Jo didn’t move, didn’t resist as the paper slid from her fingers, only her eyes following his movements. He folded it up and tucked it into the top pocket of the suitcase and shut it. His heart was pounding so hard his ears were ringing. He leaned on top of the suitcase and closed his eyes. Damn Abraham for this.

No, damn himself. He was a coward, Abe was right in that.

“Who’s Henry Morris?” she asked. She hadn’t stepped into the room.

A burnt alias—one he could no longer use if Jo had seen it, and could use it to track him down. He would need to cast it aside, pick a new one, which meant this job was useless now, and he’d need to seek another…

But it was so much harder to think of these actions clinically, to think of his quiet escape as a calm and orderly plan, when Jo was a living, breathing reminder at his back of the hurt he was causing, and of everything he was tossing aside with cavalier disrespect.

“Jo.“ His voice caught, and he cleared his throat. He still couldn’t look at her. “Jo, I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“Like what?” she said sharply. “Me finding a letter with a fake name on it for a job across the country? And with a suitcase packed and ready to go?”

“Yes,” Henry said hoarsely, and he managed to lift his head and look at her. She was angry, and her jaw was set, eyes glittering with tears. “I wanted us to have a pleasant night together. Something good to remember each other by.”

“‘Remember each other’— Oh my god, you are unbelievable.” She scoffed at him. “What the hell are you doing, Henry? Are you seriously telling me you are leaving, off to assume some new identity? Do you know how crazy this sounds, how _illegal_? What is going on?”

Her voice rose and started to tremble, but her expression was cast in iron. Henry groaned in frustration, unable to answer and unable to escape. She stood in the doorway to his room, trapping him in here, forcing him to face what he was doing. He turned and paced away as far as the small room would let him.  Heartbreak and anger and fear all clogged his throat. He needed to make peace, to make this right; he couldn’t leave it like this. He stopped at the window.  Outside, the afternoon rush hour traffic eked past at a snail’s pace, busy and crowded, but he longed to be out there, to lose himself in the anonymity of a crowd.  The air was stuffy in here, the tension crushing. He ran his hands into his hair and clenched the strands, trying to force himself to think.

The bedroom door closed with a click. His eyes focused on the window pane reflection; Jo stood barring the door, arms folded, waiting.

“Jo, it doesn’t matter why. I have to go.”

She sighed, and then her footsteps came nearer. She tugged at his arm with a hand crooked around his elbow, and forced him to turn around to face her. She was a handbreadth away, close enough to embrace. In the past weeks they’d been together, the lines of personal space had been obliterated, and she stepped into his sphere as easily as if she belonged there.

She did belong there. Try as he might, he’d never manage to erect that wall between them again. He swallowed hard, pinned by her gaze.

“Henry. Talk.”

He stuttered uselessly, and then turned his face from her, cheeks burning with guilt.

“I…I can’t. I know this looks…” He gestured towards the suitcase, then let his hand drop to his side.

“Bad. It looks bad.” Her hard expression cracked a little as her eyes flitted to the suitcase once more, and she shook her head as she let out a humourless laugh. “I’m trying not to take it personally, Henry. Pretty sure you weren’t thinking of fleeing the state before we started sleeping together.”

“No! Jo—no, this has nothing to do with you.”

“‘It’s not you, it’s me?’ Tried and true, but not a great argument.”

He had wounded her deeply. He’d known that he would hurt her, but had not let himself feel it. Faced with her reddened eyes and grim unhappiness, he couldn’t fool himself or let himself be blind to it. His apologies would never be enough.

“My life here was always temporary. I’ve valued every moment, and the time I’ve had with you has been a gift beyond anything I deserved. I fell in love with you long before we kissed, and that we’ve had this time together… I know I should have kept my distance, not inflicted this on you, but…”

Jo’s expression was morphing from anger to surprise, through to something else entirely. He backed up and sat on the edge of the bed, his knees weak. She came to stand in front of him, and he looked up at her, despairing.

She cocked her head to the side and looked down at him thoughtfully. He had no idea what she was thinking.

“I’m sorry, Jo.” It was as heartfelt as he could manage.

Without warning, she placed her hands on his shoulders and shoved. His surprise was so complete that he toppled back against the bed with a grunt, and Jo climbed over him, knees astride him, and she dropped her full weight on him as she sat and pinned his hips. She folded her arms across his chest and leaned, pinning him down, and she stared down at him with a raised eyebrow as he gaped at her in bafflement.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Her weight was comforting and secure, more reassuring than entrapping, and his hands settled on her thighs.

“I’m going to hold you down until you give me a straight answer.”

“Is this an approved interrogation technique?” he asked, amused despite himself.

“Is this an interrogation?” she shot back, eyes narrowed. “Is this something you won’t tell me because I’m a police officer?”

He shut his mouth, and wondered if he should push her off and end this. Despite her talk, he knew that if he did so, she would let him.

However, it felt good to have her against him, no matter the circumstances. Her warmth was easing his distress, relaxing him and making it simpler to breathe despite her weight on his chest. He rubbed his hands over her thighs, then up her body to her crossed arms.

“Do you even _want_ to go?” Jo asked quietly.

Henry’s eyes refocused on her face—she wasn’t angry anymore, only puzzled. He licked his lip, pausing. They’d spent too many hours with each other, naked and vulnerable, safe in bed together with honest emotions bared, and lying to her like this was impossible.

“No. I don’t want to leave.”

“Then why are you?”

“Because…”

Her body took on a tension, her breath held, though her expression didn’t change. She was practiced at this, pulling the truth from those who didn’t wish to give it. And in his case, she held so many extra tools at her disposal—his love for her made him a fool.

“Because I have to,” he finished lamely.

“You’re going in circles,” she pointed out. “‘I have to leave because I have to.’”

“Yes. I know.” He sighed, his stomach roiling once more with his uncomfortable guilt. “I wish I could explain, but I can’t.”

“But you want to tell me,” she guessed.

“The truth is worse than just leaving, Jo, I know it is. I’ve made the mistake before, and I can’t do that to you. It never ends well.” He closed his eyes, and lingering tears leaked out the corners of his eyes, leaving wet tracks, damp at his temples and trickling into hair.

“Is that what happened with Abigail? She left because of this… this thing?”

The question hit as sharply as a slap. He bit his tongue, curled his hands around the fabric of her jacket that she hadn’t removed, but it was no use. The swift hurt burst like a bubble in his chest, and he sucked in a breath, and another, eyes burning as he kept them shut like a child.

The pressure on his chest eased as Jo shifted.  Her arms worked around him between his back and the bed, and she lay on him fully, torso to torso, embracing him. He wrapped his arms around her and hid his face in the crook of her neck.

“God, I’m so sorry, Jo. I’m so sorry.”

She shushed him gently, and held him tight. She held him until his shaking stopped, until he could breathe again without choking. He kissed her neck in thanks, and she sighed. She was trembling too.

“Please will you tell me?”

Her begging tone broke his heart all over again, and he felt inescapably that he owed her something more than what he’d given her. He rubbed her back as he mulled over his words.

“It’s… not something I can hide. I can’t pretend it away, though on occasion I’ve tried. And now, I’ve reached the point where people will start to learn of it, and that never leads anywhere good. I have to go before it reaches that point. It’s for the best.”

“I see,” she said slowly.  “So, you’re worried about...what, people at work?  Me?”

She propped herself back up but didn’t get off him, keeping him caged to the bed with her arms and her hips heavy on his.  Her eyes were red and puffy, but she was keeping herself steady despite the telltale tremors in her muscles—he suspected she was doing it for his sake more than her own, trying to keep him calm, like a skittish animal. The way his heart pounded, he wondered if she wasn’t right.

“But you’re not worried about Abe.  So he knows.”

“Yes.”

This odd, tangential honesty was strangely freeing.  They danced around the edge of this secret; Jo’s feints defined the boundaries he set while he gave her as much as he could.  But she was pushing further each time, extracting more than he’d thought he’d ever give.

“You didn’t kill someone, did you?”

He blinked, taken aback.  He frowned at her.

“No, good god, Jo. Of course not.”

“Great.  Okay, that’d be a hard one.”

She rolled off him, laying next to him and staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. Henry didn’t move for a moment, and then rolled his head to look at her lying next to him, both of them with their legs dangling off the edge of the bed.  Jo’s mouth was pursed, and whatever was going on in her mind, she wasn’t upset anymore.  She rolled her head towards him as well.

“So, Abe knows, and he likes you just fine.  Though he looks pretty pissed off right now.”

Henry chuckled quietly with gallows humour.

“Yes, he made his feelings quite clear when he sent you up here.  He’s known me a long time, and I dare say he puts up with far too much.”

“So what’s so bad about people knowing?  All I can think of is that it’s illegal.  There aren’t that many reasons for fake names.  Unless you’re in witness protection?”

“No, nothing like that,” he said.  He rolled onto his side to face her, and she mirrored him.

“Hm.”  Jo glanced at his hand resting on the bed between them, and she took it, lacing her fingers between his.  “You’d tell me if you could, bad things happen when people find out—which they always do if you stick around long enough—but Abe knows and seems fine with it, and it’s not anything to do with a crime.  How am I doing?”

“Right so far.”  He forced himself to nod.

“But Abigail didn’t take it well.”

He had no idea why he was letting this continue, letting her tease all this out of him.  Something in her honest curiosity and patience kept him on the hook.

“Well…”  Even his loneliness and heartbreak over her departure wouldn’t allow him to disregard their many years together.  “For a time, it was good.  But it was like everything else, in the end. We were fooling ourselves.  I don’t get to live a normal life.  I can’t.”

Jo’s eyes were large with concern.

“Are you… sick?”

“I suppose you could say that, in a way.”  He couldn’t help the wry humour, the safety valve that had kept him sane after so many years; private jokes with himself in lieu of company and confidantes.  “A long-term illness, so to speak.”

“Dying?”

“No.”  Adrenaline was rushing again, robbing his limbs of circulation and making his heart race.  “No, quite the opposite.”

She squeezed his hand a few times, calling his attention back to her.  She was concerned now, but intent.

“If whatever you think is going to happen does happen, then you’ve already decided to leave.  I won’t stop you if that’s what you want.  But I’m listening, okay?”

Henry laid his head on the pillow, and his body had gone cold, perhaps with shock.  He blinked at her as she touched his cheek.  Jo was holding her breath, waiting.  Ready.

Now or never.

“I have five gray hairs,” he said abruptly.

Jo let out her breath in a huff, and her brow knit in confusion.

“Okay,” she said slowly.  “Congratulations.”

“I will always have five.  No more, no less.”

She took that in as Henry waited, and then she put her hand on his chest.

“And why is that?”

“Because…”  He ground his teeth together, and forced his unwilling tongue to work.  “Because I will always look like this.  My hair, my face, my body.  I’m not going to change, Jo. Ever.”

Jo absorbed that as well, her hand steady on his chest.  She hadn’t flinched, nor pulled back, nor commented as his voice shook and his heart tried to pound its way out of his chest beneath her palm.

“What makes you think so?”

“Experience.  Many, many years of experience.”  She was silent, unmoving as stone.  Henry couldn’t bear it any longer and rolled away from her, putting his legs off the side of the bed and sitting upright, back to her.  He leaned on his knees and put his head in his hands.  “Every life I live has an ending, even if I don’t.”

He cursed himself for a fool, rubbing his temples and wishing he hadn’t let himself go down this path.  Now he would leave her behind thinking him delusional, or worse, that he was having some kind of mental breakdown and would pursue him with the kind intentions of getting him help.  How far would he have to run?

The bed shifted, and Jo touched his back hesitantly, then with greater assurance.

“I like you the way you are,” Jo said.

Henry lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at her, at the inscrutable, yet sympathetic expression, and she smiled hopefully at him.

“If you’re not—if you can’t change… I like the way you are now, so...that’s good, right?”

“Jo…”  He tried helplessly for words, but there were none.  He sighed in defeat, but Jo interrupted him gently.

“I was thinking, since Abe knows the full score here, would this be easier if he helped you out?  Maybe filled in a few of the details, if this is so hard for you to talk about?”

Henry blinked a few times, peering at her carefully.  He looked for hints that she was humouring him, but found none.  He nodded.

“Perhaps.”

“How about we go get him, then.  I get the feeling there’s a long story here, and you might need some help telling it.”

Henry twisted towards her, and in a rush of desperate relief, pulled her to him in a tight hug.  She squeezed him tight in return.

“You have no idea,” he said with a slight laugh.  “But if you’re willing to listen, I’ll tell it.”

“I’ve always been willing to listen, Henry,” she murmured, kissing him on the cheek.  “Always.”

 

***

 

Nearly a year later, as Henry leaned over the electron microscope, carefully adjusting the eyepiece to account for the glasses he now wore daily, Lucas came up behind him with a loud, victorious cry, startling him enough to make him jump and twist around, on guard.

“Ahah!  Look at that—you’re getting a patch of gray hair!  Glasses and gray.  How’s it feel, Doc?”

The hair over Lucas’ ear had sprinkled earnestly with gray over the last year, though his obsession with it had faded soon after the initial discovery—but was quite obviously not forgotten.  Henry touched the artificially grayed patch self-consciously, but Lucas seemed too pleased to question the veracity of it.

“Facts of life,” Henry said noncommitally.  “Happens to almost everyone eventually.”

“I think he’ll make a pretty good silver fox,” came Jo’s voice as she entered the morgue.  She had her hands in her pockets, and she winked at Henry.

Henry’s shoulders dropped from their tense position at her appearance.  A month and a half of carefully working gray into his hair, with Jo’s advice on the how and the when, and it was working just fine.

“One must try to age gracefully,” he said with a smile to Lucas.

Jo snorted at that, while Lucas nodded sagely.

“Yep, yep.  Exactly.  I’ve always said the same—gotta roll with it, right?  No way am I going to freak out over a little thing like that.”

Apparently blind to the contradiction in his words, Lucas continued on with his work, wandering away.  Jo and Henry’s eyes met, and they chuckled to each other.

“I came down to see if you’re free for lunch,” Jo asked.

“Yes, give me a few minutes and I’ll be right there.”

“Great.”  She leaned in close and kissed him on the cheek with a grin.  Comfortable, easy—their relationship was going on a year, and with them living together it was no secret, and neither of them worked to keep it so.  “I’ll see you at the front?”

“Sounds lovely.”

It was his sixth year in New York, and he was now sure he’d be able to stay a little longer—and would, as long he could.  Jo, studying for her lieutenant’s exams, had already begun to talk about transfers to other cities if it became necessary.  Idle talk, yet distant concerns, but they’d talked of it.

But in the meantime, he was happily living his life here—gray hair and glasses and all.


End file.
